


Get Away, Run Away, Fly Away

by momopeachchild



Series: We Never Learned to keep our Voices down, We'll sink or swim together [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momopeachchild/pseuds/momopeachchild
Summary: He could never stay. They always understood.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke, Anders/Karl Thekla, Female Amell & Anders
Series: We Never Learned to keep our Voices down, We'll sink or swim together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602619
Kudos: 4





	Get Away, Run Away, Fly Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [against_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/against_stars/gifts).



> Inspired by more beautiful art by against_stars!

Cosette and Karl were the only two bright spots in the Circle for him. But they weren’t enough, they couldn’t be enough to kill the need for freedom in him.

Karl understood, he always understood. He was always there when they decided to let Anders out of that tiny cell in the very bottom of the tower. Even when they left him there for a blighted week. And Cosette, Cosette was just as eager as ever to hear where he’d gone, what he’d seen, and of course, to do the Nevarran braid for her.  
  


The first time he’d been dragged back she hadn’t been present. Surely she’d known, if by his missed presence alone. But when he’d been dragged back it’d been very late at night, Irving had been in his sleep clothes and Greagoir in less armor than Anders had ever seen him. It wasn’t his first escape attempt since arriving, but it was the first since he’d swam Lake Calenhad. Four days down in the pits below the circle tower, where no one could hear him scream. 

He’d returned with crackled lips and dark circles under his eyes. Cosette’s hug had made him flinch and he felt bad when she looked at him with questioning eyes. Thankfully he distracted her with a Nevarran braid, or at the very least she had sense enough to drop the topic. Despite her questions about the outside world, he kept his mouth shut. He was being watched too closely, his aching ribs and bruised legs a not so gentle reminder. 

His next escape had been slightly more successful, but unfortunately his return had been in the middle of a meal. Everyone knew, and Cosette and her shadow Jowan had followed Irving down. Or rather Cosette had followed, and Jowan was trying to keep her out of too much trouble, Andraste bless his heart.   
  
He couldn’t even say what had set her to yelling. Maybe it was the rough manhandling, or the kick. Maybe it was Irving’s cold attitude or Greagoir’s anger. He looked back long enough to see Irving grab her wrist, the words leaving her mouth completely lost on his exhausted mind. He spared a prayer that she wouldn’t end up with him.   
  
No one came to see him the whole time he was down there. And that was far more terrifying than if someone had come down to beat him again. Because they at least brought a mouthful of water when they did come. He had to be carried out by two tranquil and unceremoniously deposited on his bed when they decided he’d been there long enough. He wasn’t coherent enough to know what Cosette and Karl were saying, and he finally let himself fall into more than a fitful doze, because they were there.  
  
It’d been a month the last time they left them down there. And it took another three days for him to finally come to long enough to know what was going on. Karl dabbed at his cracked and bleeding lips, and Cosette had her lips pressed into a firm, thin line as she looked at his bruised arms and shoulders, paying little to no mind to her own bruised wrists. One day, Irving would pay for that, and for so much more.  
  
When he was well enough to actually get up, he saw how the Templars, one in particular was eyeing Cosette, and how they not so subtly made it clear that if he so much as breathed in a way they didn’t like, they would be the ones paying the price. So he stayed and played the good little mage, keeping his stories for Cosette to as minimum as possible for fear of her being harmed. He knew she would fight back, and that was the part that scared him the most. He had learned how to just lie on the ground and take whatever happened to him, to make just enough noise to make them happy and to stop sooner. She didn’t, and he knew she’d be killed or made tranquil because of it.  
  
And if they made her tranquil, he told Karl once in the darkest of night, he’d kill every templar in the tower and Irving as slowly as he could get away with. Then he’d give her a swift, painless death, and then jump from the top of the tower. The noise Karl made wasn’t one Anders could place, and he squeezed just tight enough that the still healing bruises on his ribs hurt. Kissing his forehead, he sighed and closed his eyes. “We have to protect her,” he whispered, and Karl gave a nod. 

And then they sent Karl away. Cosette didn’t say anything when they finally released him. He’d been down there for a year, and she had no questions for him. She just hugged him, mindful of the blood still on his robes, and what were probably bruised and broken ribs. She slept curled up against him that night, though she really should have been on the apprentice’s floor. But it was good she was there, she kept him from thinking of too many terrible things, and managed to keep the worst of the nightmares away. Before she’d fallen asleep, she whispered that her Harrowing was going to be moved up. He had kissed her forehead and hadn’t said anything, just squeezed her shoulders.   
  
He made one final escape was just before his thirtieth birthday. Word of the Blight was coming, and he figured there was no time like the present to try again. There was no way they’d let him volunteer to go with, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use it as cover. And so he ran, with no word left to Cosette. He never did, for fear of punishment brought down onto her as well.

It was one of the worst and best years of his life. But one that ended like every other one; Templars, pain, blood, and a cell. This one in Amaranthine, for now, until the weather cleared some to make the roads more passable. His guards had gone off for a bit for a meal, and he used what magic he had to heal the worst of his injuries before they got back. They threw scraps at him, and with shame coloring his cheeks he ate them. 

When the cell door swung open, he braced himself for the worst, though pleasantly surprised when one of them made an odd gurgling noise instead of hitting him. Looking up, he saw a sword through the armor and he rose to his feet, magic already in the palms of his hands. He’d survived too much already to die at the hands of some _darkspawn._  
  
When the door slammed open and the last creature fell he immediately went to defend himself. It took everything he had to keep his knees from giving out when he was hugged, and even more willpower to keep the tears at bay. Cosette was there. She was alive. He just prayed she hadn’t fallen as the scapegoat to his rescue attempt. But now wasn’t the time for that, it wasn’t at all. So he just ruffled her hair and joked with her, as he was expected to.

  
_“So, you’re something of a Hero now, huh? Slaying Archdemons, stopping Blights? You’ll have to tell me everything!”_  
  


But there’d be time enough for that later. When she was curled up on his bunk, despite having a spacious chamber to herself and a bed twice this size, in the darkest of night, just like they used to. But she wasn’t enough this time, to stop the worst of the nightmares, of the doubts. He didn’t know where Karl was, or if he was even still _alive_. At least only Howe and three guards burst into his room, weapons drawn. Cosette sent them away with a wave of her hand as he tried to catch his breath, tears running off of his nose and his cheeks though he tried to wish them away.   
  
She seemed to understand everything when his hands flew to her forehead, pushing her sleep mussed hair away and found nothing. He sagged, suddenly so heavy and she laid him down, kissing his temple as she started to tell him about the time Biscuit had gone around the river bank where they’d stopped to rest and clean up after a particularly bloody fight, and made off with several pairs of underpants, mostly Alistair’s she noted. He didn’t laugh, but it was enough to help calm him down.

Months later, she left. 

And he ran.

It was too late for Karl, _he had been too late_. But he did what he said he would all those years ago. Though he had help killing every templar in the place. And he gave Karl his last wish. Reaching under his sleeve he took the small piece of cloth tied there and pressed it to his lips before standing. Step three of his plan couldn’t happen though, there were too many people who needed him. Later, he decided. When he could take the Knight Commander with him.

It took years and too much wine, but one night he told Marian everything. She had an idea from what little her father had told her. But he was drunk enough, that he told her about everything. Ever beating, every hour that passed without food or water, of the even more terrifying threat that loomed over those he cared for. The illegality of Karl’s tranquility.  
  
His pamphlets called “Accounts from A Circle Mage” were dismissed as over dramatic stories, nothing more by the Chantry. Even his Manifesto was given no credibility. He did everything he could, and no one would listen. So he’d make them listen. Anders just wished he didn’t have to involve Marian in this. 

But no matter what he did, it seemed it would never be enough. He was truly resigned to death, truly almost hoping for it at this point. He’d failed Cosette so many times. He had failed Karl far worse than he could have ever thought to. Even now, mages, _children_ were dying because of him. And he hadn’t even taken Meredith down. But he was given his chance, and with help the Knight Commander was destroyed.   
  
And for what was probably the hundredth time in his life, Anders ran. But no matter how far he ran, or who he ran with, he knew he’d never be able to leave behind the horrible memories, of Cosette being held back by Irving, of the Templars’ looks at her and Karl, of kissing Karl’s forehead in the exact spot where he was mutilated. Of every time Marian was hurt because of him. He just prayed that the good ones would always out pace the bad.

As he groggily stood, ready to defend Marian and himself, he had a feeling that the good would always out pace the bad, as Cosette threw herself at him.  
  


_“I understand what you had to do. Tell me everything.”_

  
For all of his failures, for all of his missteps, there would be someone there to catch him. 


End file.
